Silas was reading in his room when the first tremor began. The seemed to climb from the pits of the ground up into his room, shaking the walls. He stayed seated until it seemed over, at least for the moment, and stood up. He was almost certain that this wasn't an earth shake as it felt more like a tunnel collapse in the mine. His eyebrows furrowed in concern as he remembered that there was a possibility of a fire. He couldn't remember the last time one had broken out, but it was better to be safe than sorry. If something had have happened...Silas wasn't sure what he would do with himself. The storm had made life a little more difficult, but to add fire onto that? There would surely spell out devastation for his people.
He'd only be bringing a small dagger to keep himself protected as he wasn't going out for war, he was going to secure the safety of the people. He let out a breath that he didn't know that he was holding when he heard Vangelis called out his name and strode towards the door. If his name had been called then it was sure that his older brothers would be meeting him downstairs as well. With swift movements, he grabbed a jacket on his way out. As he raced out the door, he sidestepped a few slaves who seemed a little worried but not too anxious. He supposed that their expressions boded well for the townsfolk, didn't it?
He headed straight for the courtyard, firm in his opinion that there would be horses waiting. He seemed to get there without delaying anyone and he tugged his jacket on. No words were spared as he pulled himself onto Sterope's back. The stallion was still and quiet, something Silas was grateful for. He nodded sharply at his brothers, watching as Zanon raced off with a frown on his face. He would have added a remark of his own if the worry hadn't been simmering from seeing his brother take off like that. He gave his own horse a nudge and took off after Vangelis and Yiannis. As they got closer, the smoke was clearly visible and Sterope's sure steps slowed down. Silas frowned and urged the horse forward still, his face stern and determined. He tried to ignore the way the smoke seemed to coat his throat with an ashen grip as they charged.
He didn't know where his brothers were going but he automatically followed the eldest. Silas trusted Vangelis more in a time like this, especially with Zanon acting as reckless as he was. He was obvious not sound of mind. Silas rid his thoughts of these things as he made sure that Sterope dodged the people who raced for shelter. The sounds of the horn seemed distorted to the youngest brother. The crackling of the fire nearby being too loud and the smoke had blurred his vision. Breathing became harder as the smoke got thicker and he tried to blink away the tears that formed in the corner of his eyes. He strained to hear his brother as Vangelis ordered him to stay and organise the carts of water. They would be here soon, he was sure of it. Throwing himself off Sterope, he watched as his older brothers thunder away. He gave a strained smile to anyone who passed, telling anyone who would listen that the could take shelter at the castle.
The carriage seemed to take its time arriving, although Silas knew that it had only been a short time. Once they started to unload, he encouraged them to start with the closest flames. There were a few slaves that emerged, and he immediately started delegating them to put out the worst of the flames. There was no need to waste resources on the fires that were burning themselves out, or that were contained. Their first order of business would to get the fires out to stop the fires. The uninjured men and women stopped to help them douse the flames. Silas was careful to not over extend himself as he dragged the buckets to the worst parts of the fire. He didn’t want to tire himself out too quickly, or breath heavily. Already, the smoke was in his lungs, trying to chase out the necessary oxygen. He found himself coughing as he slashed a particularly strong part of the fire. He and the slaves couldn’t get much closer without burning themselves, but they were also liable to miss.
Silas couldn’t see anything through the thickening smoke, but he hoped that someone would be further up dismantling the rooftops. This would make his job so much easier. He turned his attention back to the water, relieved when another carriage arrived. The horses were very nervous, their ears twitching as the screams ran across the streets. He directed the men in the carriage to head a little further down, and he followed. He helped the next lot of men heave the water out of the carriage, trying to be as useful as he could be. Soon, heat near the flames became almost too much. Sweat dripped off his forehead and into his eyes. He couldn't wipe it away because his arms were full, so the salt stung his eyes. He continued forward, his eyes watering all the more as his raspy voice reached the ears of the men nearby. He was telling them to be careful of the fire, to slow down and make sure that they didn't get hurt in the process of putting out the fire.
He was grateful as someone passed him a wet cloth. He took a few shallow breaths through it before focusing himself again. Silas' city needed him, his brothers and his friends. A little sore throat wasn't going to stop him now. He continued to work with the men to make things a little more manageable. He didn't want to consider what the lower levels would look like in the next morning. It certainly wouldn't be good, with a fire of this size. The smoke could also cause damage to all kinds of Kotas' folks. His lungs were already screaming at him to stop- he couldn't imagine what it must be like deeper into the fire.
He coughed into the rag again, stepping back from one of the flames as it flicked the side of a house. He had noticed that people were indeed taking down the rooftops that were fire-free. Silas turned around, his eyes crinkling as he heard the hoof beats of someone approaching. That could only mean a few people, namely one of his brothers.
Coughing into the wet rag he had been given and taking a deep breath through it against the smoky air and the watering of his eyes, Vangelis filled his lungs a few times with the damp but smogless air and then threw his cloth at his eldest brother, who had no such protection.
"Forward, brother." He told the man, with a smile of stone. "Always forward."
And with that, Vangelis latched ahold of his mounts reins again and barked his orders, one hand free to throw out directions to accompany his commands. Instinctively, his Commanders worked in unison. Philippos took the eastern flank, Nike too the western. His brother Zanon stayed dead centre to manage to men in the middle and allowed Vangelis to stay atop his mount.
Shifting on his horses back and swinging his legs up onto Windrunner, Vangelis pushed the soles of his boots down upon the animals hide and, in a few moments, was standing upright on his back. From this position - with the impressive height of his stallion and his own towering figure, Vangelis was able to see over the top of the single storey buildings that opened up to his left and right and the ghosting shadows of the soldiers as they darted between them.
"Move slow!" Vangelis commanded as he bent to take up the horn he had sounded earlier. "Move only as fast as the flames! We're not to lose anyone!"
Anyone else... Vangelis' mind betrayed him with the pessimistic thought but he shoved it away quickly. The people on the other side of the wall of flame would be either down at the docks if they had fled for safety, or lost to Hades forever. There was little he or his brothers could do about it and it would be foolish to risk other lives in an attempt to rescue that which was most likely dead.
Risking lives for those more likely to be alive? That was worthy of their time and the health of their lungs.
Raising the horn to his lips, Vangelis blew steadily through the bone - a signal for a slow march forward. For he stood by his word... they only needed to move faster than the flames, determined to run into any building they could find in order to rescue those within...
The soldiers jogged quickly but the sound of the horn commanded that they keep their line intact, ensuring that if one man stopped to help a civilian, others ran to aid in order to get the line moving again.
When soldiers fell, coughing too badly to continue, Vangelis ordered for them to run ahead, to secure a spot in the temples with cleaner air and fresh water. He would not lose men for their charitable acts, attempting to save those less able than themselves.
Pleased with every person he saw drawn from the residential homes - children who had been too frightened to run, several older civilians with injuries or immobility. A pregnant woman... Vangelis was pleased with every one they found and hurried forwards to the safety of the upper levels, but he also felt the horror of knowing that - if people in this area of the city had stayed indoors, frightened of the dangers beyond, then others in the lower parts had done the same and would now have been reduced to ash.
It took them nearly an hour but by the time the line of the Colchian military had reached the wall and gateway to the Upper Levels of the city, the flames had not been following them for some time. Halted by each of the barriers and the doused rooftops, the fires were now contained and simply burning themselves into soot.
Moving passed a two-storey building with exposed beams supporting what would have been the roof before it was taken down, Vangelis reached for the ends of the poles and swung himself up from Windrunner's back and onto the non-existent roof top, balancing on the topless walls as he darted across to place each foot on two sides of a corner and looking down the hill towards his city.
Nearly a third of the lower levels had been entirely demolished. Another was blacked and ashy but still workable.
It was a huge loss to the city and would take much time and patience to rebuild.
Standing there for a few minutes and taking several calming breathes against the now dirty air, Vangelis felt anger boiled and solidify into resignation in the pit of his stomach.
They would rebuild.
Colchians always did.
He had three days before he was due to sail to Taengea. In that time, he would work out all the details, finalise all the budgets and plans with Zanon and then allow his brother to see to the work being completed while he was gone. It would be hours upon hours of work. But if it meant he would not sleep these three days due, then he would not. He had plenty of time to catch up on his rest once on the Aegean.
By the time Vangelis climbed down from the structure and had made his way, now on foot and leading his ride, to the Hall of the Gods, his younger brothers had done exactly as he asked and secured the provision of fresh water and basic supplies.
"Silas!" Vangelis called to the man, taking the opportunity to place a duty on his now grown youngest brother. Once the other prince had joined him Vangelis gestured to the near hundreds of people camped out in the temples. Some of them would be able to go back to their homes within the next day, others would be kept in the safety of the Gods for much longer.
"These people are yours to look after now." He told Silas, his gesture encompassing the whole space they could see. "Utilise the Kotas manor, the homes of the upper society. No-one has the right to refuse. Have their kitchens working at full capacity. These people need bread and broth. Fresh water from the wells too and blankets and covers for the night. It will get cold." He raised an eyebrow at the boy. "No fires." He said almost in jest. The Hall of Gods was enclosed so they would end up smoking themselves to death. "I'll have Zanon ensure that all goods and slaves needed are at your disposal to ensure food production and water retrieval." He slapped a hand onto his brother's shoulder. "But any issues or difficulties and they are yours to fix."
Taking center, Zanon fell into his place with ease as his brother barked orders around them to those nearby. Their ranks held firm as he directed the middle portion of the men, dousing small flames as sparks took here and there and assisting those who needed it from their homes, it hurt his heart each time a roof was felled or the cry of those losing their everything reached his ears. This so soon after the storm that had wounded Vangelis and destroyed so much would hurt them a good deal, and he didn’t even want to begin to think of what horrors they would have to find in the mines. Sending up a silent prayer to the gods, he could only be relieved that his son had not been on his six month trial in the mines when this happened. No doubt Evras would be even harder to convince to allow him to go now.
With his brothers around him, Zanon found himself soon carrying a small boy covered in soot who was sobbing as his mother cradled a newborn to her chest, his father limping along behind them with severe burns on his legs that would need tending to. They would get them and all of the other survivors to the temples and upper levels before returning to monitor the fire as it blazed out. Already the roar of the inferno was shrinking though he could not tell if that was from the distance he was putting between himself and it, or if it was burning out truly.
As Vangelis broke off to climb into the rafters of one building, the second prince called everyone else forward, ushering all of the refugees into the upper levels and sending those who needed the most care into the temples. The doors of those wealthy had been opened and it warmed his heart to see that nobles were assisting in tending to those of poorer status, offering water and blankets and food as well as damp cloths to wipe the soot from skin. Colchians were as good a people as they were hardened and strong. Turning to the nearest temple, he believed it was Apollo, Zanon settled the little boy he had been carrying and his family in a corner of the space, guiding the protesting father to the nearest physician for tending to his burns before returning with a small basin of water and cloths for the mother to clean the rest of them up.
Shaking off all thanks, he returned to the courtyard to look out and see what needed to be done, what he could do now to further the cause of his family and people. A runner came to him with a request for aid for Silas and he nodded, giving orders of his own and gripping the runner’s shoulder with a fatherly squeeze before sending the young man off again. It couldn’t be easy for any of them for too long, could it. He longed to return home to see Evras and Dion, his mother and sister, but he had too much work to do here. After things were under control though, he would return to find his son and give him a tour of the relief efforts. One day after all, it would be part of his duties.
So it was that Maeva would be left to the matter of seeing her plan through to completion on her own. Fine. She couldn’t fault Galatea for being so short-sighted. The fires from the mountains were of no immediate concern -- the current focus had to be on ensuring the flames didn’t destroy the city. From her vantage point, Maeva could see how the flames had begun in the lower part of the city by the docks and started crawling their way upward.
When a tree was cut, it was not done so at the root, why should such a thing apply here? The water would do nothing for the mines; they needed to cut the trunk of the timber. Besides, water liked dry. The wetter things were the better the chances would be that the flames would not spread further.
Maeva’s ear seemed to catch words on the wind and her eyes could see a man riding a horse -- he was obviously looking at her, though his features were not well defined. And yet, could that be? Maeva wasn’t a master of information for nothing, even at this distance she was sure that man was Prince Vangelis.
His orders were clear: douse the buildings.
He knew the risks. He understood the necessity. It was a curiosity that Galatea did not comprehend the urgency of the situation. Perhaps Maeva had given the blonde too much credit, alas, too often women were but pretty faces with no wits about them. Maeva, however, was unlike other women. She was cool and calculating, and this -- she had determined -- was the appropriate course of action.
Should anyone die it would be their own foolishness for allowing themselves to become trapped in the flames or else not fleeing when given the opportunity.
The cisterns and wells would serve to take care of any buildings left aflame after Maeva doused half the burning city. Time to put the plan into action. There was no time to lose.
She climbed her way against the unlevel rock, pressed close to the aqueduct and knowing one wrong move could mean the end of her. The fire raged on while she moved to the weak spot, her ease in this plan slowly dissipating the moment she realized she would need a plan for her own escape as well.
Her eyes spotted a building nearby, her mind working out the timing it would take to leap to safety before the aqueduct collapsed from under her. The smoky air in the city indicated the flames were dying out slowly but surely. Maeva’s actions would see to it this was one battle that indeed was ended.
She lifted her skirt, revealing one of many throwing knives concealed against her milky thigh. Taking one of her knives in her hand she began to smash away at the weak point in the structure, knowing the storm’s damage that had yet to be repaired would send the whole aqueduct toppling to the ground.
Maeva could feel the rumbling from under her with each hit she used, and the first signs of water escaping surely marked her time to go. She raced herself to the ledge, and leapt to safety on the rooftop just as the aqueduct burst, flood waters finding lower city and settling any remaining embers.
She tapped the money she’d gained from her transaction, ensuring she had not lost it on her venture. It wouldn’t be enough for the repair work on its own, but she supposed the Black Swan might have a few spare coins to send the King for a replacement structure -- for the good of the city, of course. After all, it’d be a much larger waste of money to have to import drinking water.
Philippos just laughed. He had a habit of doing that when it might not have been appropriate, however it was the way that he dealt with absolutely every emotion. His coping mechanism when he was happy was to tell jokes, when he was angry - tell jokes, and sure enough when there was a dangerous job to be done, just laugh. It had kept him alive so far, even if it was sometimes the avenue for strange looks in his direction. It was alright, he enjoyed the attention. It certainly made up for what was lacking being the shadow of his elder brother.
”It’s only because I look for it.” A dashing grin was taken as his hand held up to the men that were following close behind him. On their horses, they would be able to quickly sweep up those who hadn’t gotten out. They could take street by street on Pos’ direction. A final nod was thrown to Vangelis as he pivoted his stead to turn back the way they had come.
The party that was with him followed closely at first before diving off like branches of a tree to do their best. Though, it was hard to hear the screams with the loud crackles of the flames. There were also buildings caving down, the ones that were made with flammable materials. Stone was preferable - however, there were those stalls, fencing, and balconies that crashed to the ground. Philippos was praying to the gods as he meandered through the obstacles set forth in front of him.
The commander had worked through the opposite way of the others. He dared the flames to take him to Hades as he found himself laughing in the face of the danger. It was a common joke of wondering how it was that he managed to live from one day to the next. It must have been some sort of deal with Hades, that was his only reply. Though, it wasn’t the truth. He was just maybe lucky, or that stupid.
His men all met again pushing who they had saved to the docks and near the water as the flames were beginning to die. They would beat this. The people of Midas were survivors and in spite of all the destruction they would triumph in the rebuilding. First, they would have to wait. They would have to helplessly watch as the embers burned through. The smoke still billowing up and staining the sky a dark grey.
He paused to cough into his hand. Philippos had tried to keep a torn fabric up over his nose and mouth, but it hadn’t stayed where it was supposed to. There was a course, thickness as he coughed again. There would be a great need for rest after this. And with his help needed to rebuild the city, at least it would mean he would be in Midas for longer than two weeks as originally assumed.
As Maximus explained the situation at hand, Timaeus could see why the man was only a foot soldier and held no higher rank to his name. Leaving a group of civilians along to lead a rescue effort? Really? If they weren’t in such dire circumstances where any of them could be dead by nightfall, he would have choice words for the actions Maximus took.
Perhaps his own personal hatred for the people of Eubocris blinded his judgment of the citizens of Midas. After all, he did think of them to be just as near-sighted, selfish, and spineless as those he governed. In his mind, they were all the same hateful lot, there only happened to be more in the capital. So it wasn't a surprise that he had no faith in the ability of whatever group of citizens this foot soldier left in charge of the rescue effort as he searched for someone who was far more capable of managing quite a rescue effort. Hell, if you asked Timaeus a pack of hungry dogs was far more trustworthy in their capability of getting those kids out.
So, it was little wonder that Timaeus could not be bothered to suppress rolling his eyes out of annoyance nor could he hold his tongue when he barked out the order to be led to the unfolding chaos. Normally, he wouldn’t be so outwardly irritated when he was called upon to take the reins of a situation --especially when he preferred to mimic the stern calmness his own father had perfected before Timaeus had even been born-- but these were trying and stressful circumstances. It was going to be difficult for anyone present to hide the emotions the sight of their city burning would bring on in them.
Luckily the soldier didn’t need to be told twice and quickly turned on his heels to run off in the direction of the children, but before he could take off a third person who would truly test any patience Tim had left approached them. Turning at the sound of the woman’s voice, the baron found himself face to face with literally the last person he would have expected to run into in the midst of the burning lower levels.
“Lady Imeeya,” Timaeus started to say in a firm tone, making it clear that what he was about to say was not to be debated, “You will do no such thing. Go to the temples and seek shelter there.” By this point Tim was forced to pause as the soldier decided to run off, forcing Timaeus into a split second decision to either follow him or escort her to the temples himself. He had half the mind to do the latter even though he knew that getting her to the temples would be akin to dragging a stubborn mule by the reins… that was if Imeeya was anything like her mother. Lady Tythra was well known within the Senate for her headstrong ways, most notably for her refusal to submit her holdings and her Senate seat to a guardian upon her husband’s death. She was truly a force to be reckoned with and the Valaoritis baron made a point to avoid the Drakos woman’s ire in the Senate lest she turn her sharp tongue on him.
This why Timaeus wanted to leave no room to even start a conversation on the matter. He had heard rumors that Imeeya was even more strong-willed the mother she looked so similar to. (Their shared appearances was how Timaeus was able to identify the royal girl quickly.) She had the dangerous combination of her mother’s refusal to yield and her father’s bravery; having her do anything she didn’t want to would be an uphill battle that Timaeus did not have the time or motivation to fight. The Drakos heir would just have to be sensible for once.
So, as he turned on his heels to chase after the soldier, Timaeus said one final thing to Imeeya, “They need your aid more than we do.” A solemn pause came over him as he thought of his Kore at the temple of Hera who was undoubtedly helping the wounded who were streaming through the door, all in desperate need of the goddess’s help. He could only pray that he made the right decision in bringing her there instead of down to the sea where she would have wanted to go, given how her family had trusted it to keep them safe for generations. But at least there he had a way of keeping her safe even as he was called into smoke and heat.
Imeeya could find the same protection if she did so much as utter her name. She was far too valuable to her house to risk her life out here without so much as a guard to pull her to safety if something happened. Her insistence on helping out here was stupid and foolhardy, something that he reminded her of with his parting words, uttered lowly in a grave tone, “It is better to swallow one’s pride and assist in a way that will not be remembered than risk your name being burnt away in the same way the rest of you would if you stay out here. It is too dangerous for you out here. Go to the temples.”
With that, Timaeus took off in the direction of the soldier, not waiting to see if she would listen to his warning. He didn’t even look back as he ran into the smoky haze with his own hypocritical words ringing just as loudly as the roaring fire in his ears all the while.